


Kiss me, Babe, it's Christmas Time

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Roy Mustang, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Dancing, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Marriage Proposal, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Pregnancy, Sexual Tension, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-24 16:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13217241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: Christmas is a time to show people that you care about them. And, what better way to do that, than with a kiss?





	1. Kiss on the Stomach

**Author's Note:**

> All right. I know that Christmas is gone, but this was the Christmas story that I was meant to upload. I still feel a bit silly uploading it now, but people expressed an interest in it, so here goes nothing.
> 
> The first chapter, "Kiss on the Stomach" is the same as "Oh, Christmas Tree" so feel free to jump past that if you've read it.
> 
> As I upload, I will adjust the tags, though I do warn people in advance that "Kiss on the nape" and "Kiss on the . . ." will have some sexual content (but, if you've read my fic "Stolen kisses" you'll know that it won't be explicit)
> 
> Enjoy and a belated happy Christmas (and A very Happy New Year!)

“Fit, damnit!” Ed yelled.

 

He thumped his fist against the wall of his house, and swore. Although he was grateful to have his right arm back, there were times when missed his automail—after all, automail meant that he could hit hard objects without hurting himself. Ed rubbed his aching fist, and glared at the tree. It had been a simple plan. Go out, get the Christmas tree, and put it inside the house before Winry got back. He’d taken out the numerous cardboard boxes with the Christmas decorations and put them into the lounge in preparation for the tree. Hell, he’d even taken the time to choose the tree he thought she’d like—one that was broad, with deep green needles and plenty of sturdy branches to hang decorations on. What he hadn’t counted on was that the front door of their house was just too damn _narrow_ for the tree to fit.

 

He rubbed his aching fist again, and grabbed the tree’s branches, swearing as the needles scratched at his skin.

 

_This would be much easier if I still could do alchemy . . ._

 

Ed pushed aside the thought, and tightened his grip on the tree.

 

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . ._

 

Ed threw his weight into the push, and the tree lurched forward, then stopped. He pushed again, but the tree refused to budge. He could feel the branches bending, though. Maybe if they bent far enough he could—

 

“Ed?! What are you doing?”

 

He started, lost his grip on the tree and fell forward into the branches. He tried to detangle himself, spitting out the pine needles that somehow ended up in his mouth.

 

“Winry, what are you doing back so soon?” he asked as he fought the branches.

 

“I finished with the grocery shopping, so I thought I’d come home and—do you need some help?”

 

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got this.” Ed finally tore free of the tree. He staggered back, and tried to look nonchalant as he dusted his red coat free of pine needles.

 

He grinned at Winry, and he couldn’t stop him stomach flipping as he looked at her. She was particularly stunning when she looked like this—her hair twisted into a messy bun, her coat half unbuttoned, and her scarf trailing on the ground. He couldn’t stop his eyes travelling along her gorgeous body, to her stomach. Even though her coat hid it well, he knew that there was a noticeable bulge there and—then he realised what was in her arms.

 

“Winry, you shouldn’t be carrying heavy things!”

 

He ran forward, and scooped the parcels out of her arms.

 

Winry rolled her eyes. “Ed, I’m pregnant, but I can still do things for myself, you know? Besides, the parcels weren’t that heavy.”

 

Ed ignored her and set down the groceries on the porch.

 

Then, he folded his arms and glared at her. “The doctor said you have to take it easy.”

 

“Excuse me? Since when do you get to lecture me about taking care of myself, Mr Reckless?”

 

“Hey, it’s not like I asked to go into dangerous situations.”

 

“Ed, you tried to sneak into a laboratory you _knew_ was dangerous without any sort of help. And you were almost killed.”

 

He scowled. “Yeah, well, it’s not the same thing—besides I don’t do that anymore. Now, please would you take it easy?” 

 

“Maybe  . . . if you tell me why there’s a tree blocking our door?”

 

Ed sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was trying to surprise you with a Christmas tree, but I guess that didn’t really work, did it?” 

 

Winry blinked, and her eyes moved to the tree. “You were trying to surprise me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh Ed!” Suddenly Winry threw her arms around him, and burst into tears.

 

“Winry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, okay? Please, please don’t cry. I was trying to make you happy.

 

“I’m crying because I’m happy, stupid,” she said and cried harder.

 

“Oh,” Ed blinked, and awkwardly patted Winry on the back. “Erm . . . there, there?”

 

Winry gave a watery chuckle. “There, there? That’s really the best comfort you have?”

 

“Hey, give me a break. I’m not good at this.”

 

Winry giggled, and pulled away from him. She wiped her eyes and gave him a smile. “All right. Let’s see if we can get this tree into the house.”

 

“Okay, but don’t try to lift anything. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

 

Winry rolled her eyes again. The two of them went over to the tree, and Ed inspected it closely.

 

“I think that the branches are just sticking out too much for the tree to fit. So, if you can bend them a little as I push, we should be able to get the tree inside,” Ed said.

 

“That’s not going to work, Ed,” Winry said. She tugged at a branch. “I think they’re too thick to bend far enough to fit through the doorway.”

 

“So, what do you suggest, Gear Head?”

 

“We open up the doors to the basement, and then bring the tree up the stairs and into the lounge. After all, the door to the basement and the staircase are a lot wider than the front door.”

 

Ed stared at her, and Winry smirked, folding her arms.

 

“Am I wrong?”

 

Ed’s mouth worked for a second, and then he sighed. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

 

“Not on your life.”

 

~~~~

 

Ed pulled the tree upright, and stepped back. Winry’s idea had worked perfectly, and now the tree stood in the corner of the lounge. Ed had to admit, it looked great standing beside the fireplace, though he’d had to move the two plush armchairs and the coffee table to make room for it.

 

“It looks beautiful, Ed,” Winry said, as she stood beside him and rested her hand on his arm.

 

“Wait till you see how it looks with all the decorations.”

 

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to use those skulls again,” Winry groaned.

 

“Why not? They’re festive! They have Santa hats.”

 

“They’re _skulls_ , Ed. Skulls.”

 

Ed didn’t argue. He’d put the skulls on the tree, and she could moan at him later. After all, they matched the reindeer with bat-wings he’d gotten last year.

 

Suddenly, Winry smacked herself in the forehead.

 

“Oh man. I completely forgot about the groceries.”

 

She rushed towards the door, but he was faster. Ed grabbed her arm. 

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring them in and put them away. You just rest over there.”

 

He pointed at their comfortable couch, which stood just a short distance from the coffee table.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Thanks, Ed.” She yawned. “I am a little tired.”

 

“I told you that you over-did it.” He scolded. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Are you going to help or scold me some more?”

 

“Can’t I do both?”

 

He ducked as she flung a wrench at his head. “All right, I’m going.”

 

He gave her a grin and slipped out the front door. The cold bit into his skin, and he shuddered. It was bloody cold for this time of year—though not as cold as Fort Briggs! He scooped up the two paper bags, shook off some errant snowflakes,  and rushed back into the comfortable warmth of the kitchen.

 

He peeped inside and his eyebrows rose. There were bottles of milk, potatoes, lemons, some filleted chicken breasts, cinnamon, salt pepper—hell, there were even some herbs in here he couldn’t recognise. So, where the hell was he supposed to put all this stuff? He glanced around the kitchen. The décor had been Winry’s idea, and she favoured a rustic look—wooden furniture, polished, dark-wood cabinets, and wall-mounted spice racks. Alongside the spices were shelves filled with crockery, and each piece had a delicate pattern of spirals along its rim. He looked back at the groceries and shrugged. He’d just have to make a guess about where the stuff went.

 

It didn’t take him long to pack away all the groceries. Though, he was tempted to pour the milk down the drain, but he decided against it. No need to try and deliberately upset Winry. He checked the bags again to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and headed back to the lounge.

 

“Okay, Winry, I finished—” He paused at the doorway, and couldn’t stop a smile curling his mouth.

 

Winry was on the couch where he’d left her. She’d cradled her head in her hands, and was snoring softly. For a moment, he watched her. Then, he went over, and gently ran his fingers through her hair, before removing his coat and draping it over her. She snuggled into the added warmth, and he chuckled. He went to the boxes marked “Christmas decorations” piled by the side of the coffee table, and opened them. Inside were strings and strings of fairy lights, thick ropes of tinsel, glittering baubles, bells—anything and everything needed for the perfect tree. Including skulls wearing Santa hats, and bat-winged reindeer.

 

He picked up a string of lights, and draped them along the branches of the tree. He whistled as he worked—and let out a laugh as he realised he was whistling “Oh Christmas Tree”. Damn, this festive mood was really getting to him. The first set of lights done, he reached for the second, when a sleepy voice made him pause.

 

“Ed? What are you doing?”

 

He half-turned and chuckled as Winry sat up properly, rubbing her eyes.

 

“I’m decorating the tree.”

 

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

 

“I wanted to surprise you, and—“

 

Suddenly Winry’s eyes went wide. Her hands flew to her abdomen.

 

“ED!”

 

Ed dropped the lights. In a second, he was at her side. “Winry, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor? Damnit, Winry, talk to me!”

 

Winry ignored him, and grabbed his hands. She placed them on her stomach.

 

“Feel,” she commanded.

 

Ed opened his mouth to ask what the hell she meant, when something nudged his palm. And again. He stared at Winry’s stomach.

 

“I-it’s kicking.”

 

“Yes.” There were tears running down Winry’s cheeks, and, though Ed would never admit it, his own eyes felt moist as well.

 

Without thinking, he leant down and kissed Winry’s belly, right where he’d felt the the kick.

 

“I love you,” he whispered to her stomach. “Both of you,” he added, as he glanced up at his wife.

 

Winry sniffed, and wiped her eyes. “Come here so I can hug you, Alchemy Freak.”

 

“Sure thing, Gear Head.”


	2. Kiss on the Forehead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So here's a bit of fluff with Izumi and the Elrics. I adore the maternal relationship between her and the boys, so I thought I wanted to include it somewhere.

Izumi bent over the pot, and dipped her spoon into the stew. As a butcher’s wife, she preferred preparing the meat than actually doing the cooking, but since she’d taken on her two apprentices, she’d tried to get better at cooking. Her kitchen was equipped for it, after all. She had row upon row of spices and seasoning on the walls, a large stove that gleamed in the sunlight, two ovens built into the walls, and plenty of counter space to prepare the food. She tasted the stew and frowned. She could taste the richness of the bone marrow, and the warmth of the pepper mingling with the faintest traces of lemon. But, there was something missing from the taste.

 

“Is it ready yet?” Ed asked from his seat at the table.

 

Izumi glared at him. Ever since she’d accepted the two boys as her apprentices a few weeks ago, their questions hadn’t stopped. She’d expected them to find her training too hard—and some of the science too boring—but no matter what she threw at them, they kept coming back for more.

 

She was starting to admire their tenacity.

 

“No it’s not,” she snapped. “But, if you want to eat, you’ll answer the following question: What is the law of conservation of energy?”

 

“In a closed system, energy cannot be created or destroyed, but only changed from one form into another or transferred from one object to another,” Al said, answering in case his brother didn’t know the answer.

 

Izumi raised an eyebrow. “And what does that mean in terms of alchemy?”

 

“It means that the energy generated by alchemical reactions is converted into heat, light or sound, or even kinetic energy.”

 

“And the law of conservation of mass?” she asked, this time directing her gaze at Ed.

 

“The law of conservation of mass states that mass in an isolated system is neither created nor destroyed by chemical reactions or physical transformations,” he answered.

 

“And that means . . .”

 

“It means that a transmuted object must have the same mass as its original, untransmuted form.” Ed sounded slightly smug, and Izumi resolved to knock that out of him at their next sparring session.

 

She nodded, and took another taste of the stew. Salt. That’s what it needed. Salt, and some oregano. 

 

“Right. Now, go wash up. It’ll be ready soon,” she told them.

 

The boys jumped out their seats, and raced out of the kitchen, almost colliding with Sig as he opened the door.

 

“Sorry, Sig!” the yelled, as they dashed past him. Her gaze flicked over him. He was still wearing his bloodstained butcher’s apron, and had his cleaver tucked into his belt. But, his eyes were soft as he looked at her. She turned away, and finished adding the final touches to her stew. A few seconds later, she felt his hand on her shoulder.

 

“Izumi,” Sig murmured, “Are you all right?”

 

“Do I look like something’s wrong?”

 

He didn’t answer for a moment, so Izumi took the opportunity to lay her dripping spoon on the spoon rest. She turned to face him.

 

“I know this time of year is difficult for you,” Sig said at last.

 

Izumi’s jaw tightened. “It’s all right, Sig. I’m fine.”

 

“I know . . . I just wanted you to know I’m here.”

 

She cupped his cheek. “I never doubt you’re for me, honey.”

 

He leant down, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.” She shook herself. “Will you watch the stew for a second? I need to go find those boys. They’re need to set the table before they can have any dinner.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

She slipped past Sig, and headed down the hall to the guest room. While Ed and Al had been on Yock Island, Sig and Izumi had converted their one storeroom into a guest room for the boys. They put two desks in the room, bookshelves, two large beds—though Izumi had walked into the room once, and found the two boys snuggled up in a single bed, with Ed’s arm thrown protectively over his younger brother.

 

As she reached the door,  she raised her hand to knock and paused as Al’s voice came through the door.

 

“It’s almost Christmas, Brother.”

 

“I know, Al.”

 

“Do you think Teacher celebrates?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, though. She doesn’t have any kids, and people without kids don’t tend to get very excited around Christmas.”

 

An image flashed through her mind of the tiny baby booties she’d bought all those years ago, as a pre-emptive Christmas present.

 

After her child—after she’d tried to—after the _incident_ , she couldn’t bring herself to look at them, and ended up asking Sig to give them away.

 

“Brother, do you remember the one year we saw that enormous gingerbread house that Mrs. Blackwell made?”

 

“Hell, that thing was huge! It took up the entire dining room table.”

 

“Yeah, and the windows were made from boiled sweets she’d melted, and—“

 

“And she had shortbread biscuits for tiles on the roof, and a coconut biscuit Christmas tree on the outside of the house.”

 

“And she made a chocolate door,” Ed’s voice became sad. “Mom said that she’d make us our own gingerbread house to decorate. We never got a chance, though . . .”

 

“Yeah . . .”

 

A tear rolled down Izumi’s cheek. She flicked it away, and backed away from the door.

 

***

 

Izumi couldn’t stop a smile as she admired her handiwork. It had taken her the better part of five days, but _at last_ it was ready. A basic gingerbread house, unadorned and waiting for children to decorate. She’d set it up in the dining room, and next to the house were all the sweets and biscuits she’d gotten for decorating purposes. There were several bowls of coloured royal icing and tubes to draw patterns on the walls or roof; biscuits of all kinds in various shapes and sizes; boiled candies; candy canes; chocolate buttons and chocolate nibs; liquorice and other kinds of sweets.

 

She inspected her gingerbread house once again. It had been surprisingly hard to make. She’d first had to find a recipe for gingerbread that didn’t scorch the inside of a person’s mouth, yet had enough of a kick to be recognisable as ginger. After that, it was a matter of stencilling the template for the walls and roof of the house on grease proof paper, and cutting the dough to shape. After several burnt attempts, she’d finally had the pieces she needed for the house.

 

Then, she encountered another problem—the dough spread when it baked, and lost the exact shape she needed for the house. She’d fumed, and had been ready to smash all the pieces, when Sig had suggested for her to use her knife to carve then into shape. She’d followed his advice—honestly, what would she do without him?—and used royal icing to hold it all together. The finished result didn’t look too bad. There was just _one_ thing left to do. She went over to the door, yanked it open and yelled.

 

“ED! AL! GET IN HERE NOW!”

 

There was silence for a second. Then, she heard the frantic patter of feet, and the two of them skidded into the room. They were covered in mud and bruises—obviously they had been sparring with each other again.

 

“Yes, Teacher!””

 

Izumi sighed, and tried to keep her face neutral as she pointed to the table.

 

“Over there is a gingerbread house. Beside it are the sweets and chocolates for you to decorate the house with.”

 

They stared at her with wide, golden eyes. Then, Al swallowed hard.

 

“W-what?”

 

“There’s a house over there for you two to decorate.” This time, she couldn’t stop her lips curving upwards. “Have fun.”

 

There was a moment of hesitation. Ed and Al glanced at each other. Then, the boys lunged at her, wrapping their arms around her waist.

 

“Thank you, Teacher!”

 

Something started glowing in her chest. She knelt down, as they released her, so that she was eye level with them. Then, she kissed first Ed, then Al, on the forehead, and pulled them into a hug.

 

She wanted to say, _I love you, boys._ But, then again, did she really need to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you guys think? And, just so you know, the problems Izumi encountered baking the gingerbread house are all problems we encounter at my Mom's bakery when we do our gingerbread houses for our clients.


	3. Kiss on the Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the next chapter, where our favourite bookworm gets a little kiss.

Sheska cleared her throat, and continued reading aloud “. . . had I known that is could collapse at any moment—”

 

“Sheska, you aren’t tired, are you?” her mother interrupted. “You’ve been reading aloud for almost the entire afternoon.”

 

“I’m fine, Mom,” Sheska said.

 

She took a few sips from her glass of water and continued.  “Besides, I know you love this book, and it’s such a sweet Christmas story, I don’t really mind.”

 

She took a glance at her mother as she spoke. Since she’d been able to move her mother to a better hospital, her mother’s condition had improved greatly. There was colour in her cheeks, and Sheska could no longer see her mother’s bones jutting out beneath her skin. But, Sheska knew that full recovery was a long way from coming. But, the doctors were confident that, with time, she would recover.

 

“Still, sweetie, you can stop for today. We can finish it off another afternoon.” Her mother smiled fondly at her as she spoke.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes. And, you know I don’t like you travelling alone at night, so you’d better get going soon.”

 

“Mom, I’ve caught the bus before. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

 

“I’m a mother. Worrying is what I do best.”

 

“Okay, Mom.”

 

Sheska slipped her bookmark between the pages, and placed it on her mother’s bedside table. As she did, she couldn’t help looking around the room. It was obvious that it was a hospital room—the IV stand and the curtain railing around the bed gave away that much. But, this hospital was far better than the one her mother used to be at. Here, her mother, at least had a private room, with chairs that were moderately more comfortable than the ones usually found in hospitals. There were proper, lockable, cabinets for her mother to store her belongings, and shelves running right around the room—shelves that were now overflowing with books. Her mother was probably the only person who loved books more than Sheska did. 

 

There were a few changes to the room since the last time Sheska visited. With Christmas approaching, the hospital staff had tried to make the rooms look festive. There was a wreath on her mother’s door, and a small Christmas tree stood guard by the doorway, decorated in golden baubles and silver tinsel. Sheska appreciated the effort the hospital staff put into making the wards feel welcoming. Christmas could be a lonely time for patients who had no one to visit them. And, she was very grateful that the Elric brothers had helped her find a job that allowed her to afford such a good hospital for her mother.

 

Sheska grabbed her coat from the chair and pulled it on.

 

“Don’t forget your scarf, sweetie. Are you sure that you’ll be okay catching the bus by yourself?”

 

“Of course. I’ve done it before.” Sheska glanced at her watch and yelped.

 

“Oh, no! I’m late. Bye, Mom!” she shouted as she raced out the door.

 

She’d barely taken three steps when she slammed into something. She lost her footing, and hit the ground, hard. She groaned, and tried to get up—and to her shock there was a strong pair of hands grabbing her shoulders. The hands pulled her into a seated position.

 

She blinked at the blurred world around her. Had the fall given her a concussion? Then, she realised. She’d lost her glasses. There was a blurry figure beside her and its hand was gently supporting her.

 

“Are you all right?” a familiar voice asked. The voice was coming from the blur.

 

Sheska squinted. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are. I lost my glasses.”

 

The blur chuckled and pressed something into her hands.

 

“Here you go. Your glasses.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

She slipped them onto her nose, and smiled. The blood rushed to her face as she recognised the person in front of her. Second Lieutenant Havoc. _Of course._ Of course she’d be dumb enough to collide with the handsome Lieutenant. And, he looked better than usual, with his spiky blonde hair, and deep blue eyes accentuated by the navy sweater he wore.

 

“ _Second Lieutenant?!_ What are you doing here?”

 

“I came here for my regular check-up. What about you?”

 

“I, erm—”

 

“Sheska! Are you all right?” Her mother’s voice sounded frantic.

 

Before Sheska could reassure her mother, Lieutenant Havoc looked up and called.

 

“She’s all right, ma’am. She just took a little fall.”

 

Without waiting for her permission, Lieutenant Havoc grabbed her forearm, and helped her to her feet. She felt herself turning red as his touch sent electricity crackling through her blood. She looked away, and wished she’d chosen to wear something other than her red Christmas jersey with holes in the sleeves.

 

“Sheska! You fell?!”

 

It was the panic in her mother’s voice that peeled the tongue from the roof of Sheska’s mouth. “I’m fine, Mom.”

 

And, to prove it, Sheska stuck her head back into the room. To her surprise, Lieutenant Havoc followed her, keeping a steadying palm on her elbow. Her mother was half out the bed, her dressing gown in one hand. Her mother’s eyes widened as she took in Lieutenant Havoc and Sheska. Then, a glint came into her mother’s eyes. She settled back beneath the covers, as Sheska went to take her usual seat.

 

“Sheska, sweetie, who’s this?” her mother asked, as she gestured at Lieutenant Havoc

 

“Oh, Mom, this is erm, well—”

 

“I’m Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc,” he said, stepping forward with a hand outstretched.

 

Her mother took his hand and gave it a warm shake. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. Sheska’s told me very little about you.”

 

Lieutenant Havoc laughed and took a seat. Sheska adjusted her glasses nervously at the rebuke in her mother’s voice.

 

“There wasn’t much to tell,” she mumbled.

 

Sheska had met the Second Lieutenant months ago, when he’d been hospitalised. She’d seen him looking so despondent as the nurses wheeled him through the corridors . . . so she’d gathered her courage, and decided to bring him some books to try and cheer him up. Though the delivery of the books had been an absolute disaster. Despite this, Lieutenant Havoc had asked her to stay and read to him, and it had become a routine for her to read to him while he practiced his strengthening exercises. And bring him the occasional treat that the nurses prohibited him from getting, like chocolates.

 

“Sheska used to come and read to me when I was in this hospital.”

 

“She did?” Her mother was sounding too interested for Sheka’s liking.

 

“Yep.” He gave a crooked grin. “I’m not the brightest, so I’m not too fond of reading, but she showed me a couple of books that were right up my alley.”

 

Sheska knew exactly which books he was talking about. Stories of men and women who pushed themselves to go beyond their limitations to do extraordinary things. And, considering the little she knew about Lieutenant Havoc’s accident, it made sense he’d be pulled towards those stories.

 

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Don’t you think she has a beautiful reading voice?”

 

“Mom!” Sheska felt her cheeks going red.

 

Lieutenant Havoc chuckled, and gave another crooked grin. “It’s one of the best I’ve heard.”

 

“Please, can we change the subject?” Sheska muttered.

 

Her mother gave her a look, but, thankfully, listened to Sheska’s request. “All right, so, Lieutenant—”

 

“You can call me, Jean, ma’am.”

 

“Call me Anya. Now, what are you doing for Christmas?”

 

“I don’t know. The trains are fully booked, so there’s no chance of me going back east to spend time with my folks.”

 

Sheska glanced at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. Isn’t there a military transport option?”

 

Lieutenant Havoc shrugged. “I’m sure there is, but that’s only available if you have an emergency.” 

 

“Then, why don’t you join us for Christmas?”

 

His expression lit up. “Really?”

 

Sheska nodded, and her mother smiled.

 

“It won’t be anything too fancy, but it will be a home-cooked meal,” Sheska said, as she nervously adjusted her glasses. “I read a lot of recipe books, so I know how to cook.”

 

“If you don’t get too caught up in reading, right, sweetie?” her mom said teasingly.

 

Sheska blushed, and he laughed. “I’d appreciate a good home-cooked meal. The food here is bland.”

 

“I’m sure we can sort something out.” Her mother glanced at the window again. “You’d better get going, Sheska. It’s getting dark.”

 

Sheska buried her face in her hands. “Oh no. I’ve missed the bus. What am I going to do now?”

 

“I’ll walk you home.”

 

Sheska started and stared at him. “Y-you would?”

 

“Yeah. I don’t mind. Besides, I need to pick up more cigarettes from the store.”

 

Her mother frowned at him. “You shouldn’t smoke, it’s bad for you.”

 

“My mom says so too, but I like it.” He grinned. “There’s worse ways to go, I think.”

 

Her mother opened her mouth to argue, and Sheska quickly jumped in.

 

“Thank you for the offer, Jean, but if you need to do some shopping, I think we’d better be going.”

 

The last thing she wanted was for Lieutenant Havoc and her mother to get into an argument over cigarettes. She stood up, adjusting her scarf, and Lieutenant Havok stood up as well.

 

“All right,” her mother said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sheska. And, Jean, don’t forget about our invitation.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Please, be careful while walking, you two.”

 

Lieutenant Havoc lifted up his shirt slightly, and Sheska sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the gun holstered there.

 

“Don’t worry. I can protect Sheska if anything happens.”

 

Her mother didn’t look particularly reassured, but there wasn’t much Sheska could do about that. She went over, and hugged her mother.

 

“Bye, Mom.”

 

“Goodbye, Anya.”

 

“Goodbye to the both of you.”

 

Sheska gave her mother a wave, and started down the corridor, with Lieutenant Havoc directly by her side. At this time of the day, all the visitors had gone home, so there was an unusual silence in the corridors. There were no worried voices, no nurses bustling up and down the corridors, no pained wails. The only sounds Sheska could hear were the Lieutenant’s breathing and the faint traces of Christmas carols coming from one of the rooms. It was eerie.

 

“Your Mom seems nice.”

 

She started and looked at Lieutenant Havoc. To her mild surprise, he was being honest. It brought a smile to her face.

 

“She is.”

 

“She reminds me of my Mom, a bit. I’m looking forward to joining you two for Christmas. That is, if you don’t mind me joining you?”

 

“I don’t mind at all.”

 

She paused in the doorway, and Lieutenant Havoc did as well.  “Listen, don’t worry about walking me home. I can manage. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

 

“I really don’t mind. There’s worse ways to spend the day then walking a pretty girl home and—” He stopped, and stared at something above Sheska’s head.

 

“What is it?” she looked up, and her mouth went dry. 

 

Mistletoe. She was under the mistletoe. With Lieutenant Havoc. Before she could figure out exactly what to do, Lieutenant Havoc leant down, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. The blood rushed to her face, and her glasses started to steam up.

 

“Now that the tradition is out the way,” he said, and unless she was mistaken, he was blushing slightly as well. “let’s get you home.”

 

He took her hand, and didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this, and that it wasn't too out of character. Sheska x Jean Havoc is one of my Mom's OTPs, so I tried hard to get this portion of the fic to be sweet, but in character.


	4. Kiss on the Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter with our favourite grumpy Ishvallan

Scar pressed himself deeper into the shadows, and strained his senses.  As far as he could tell, the alley was deserted. But, that was hardly surprising. The weather was frigid. Scar’s breath formed small plumes of mist, and he couldn’t feel his fingertips. He tugged his coat tighter around him and glanced into the alley again. It was similar to most of the other alleys in Amestris, with overturned crates, cardboard boxes and broken bottles of glass. Although, the snow meant that the cardboard had turned into sodden strips. Scar had also noticed that, since the Amestrian holiday of Christmas was approaching, there were a great deal more alcohol bottles strewn about, as well as more food in the trash cans. Obviously, the remains of whatever feasts the Amestrians decided to glut themselves on.  

 

Of course, he didn’t always get his food from the trash cans. He glanced down at the prize clutched tightly in his hand. He’d managed to steal the bag from a couple. The man and women had been so busy kissing beneath a small green plant that they hadn’t noticed him pick up the bag and slip into the alley. Steam streamed from the paper bag, and its fragrance tickled his nose. Without thinking about it, he inhaled deeply, and his head spun as he identified fresh pork, apple, and the faintest hints of cinnamon. He hadn’t had food like this since his family—since—since before the war.

 

Scar made his way to one of the over-turned crates, and dusted off some snow. He sat down, and rested his back against the stack of crates. At least they provided some respite from the chill wind moving through the alley. He looked up at the brick walls on either side of the alley. All the windows had blinds pulled tightly across them. The people were all inside, bundled in blankets—unlike the Ishvallan serial killer seated just a few metres away from them. For a moment, Scar’s right hand flexed, and he was tempted to blast apart the walls and expose the inhabitants to the bitter cold. He shook himself. His destructive powers were tools for vengeance against the state Alchemists. They weren’t to be used for petty whims. Besides, he used his abilities, there was a good chance that the military would find and execute him before he managed to eliminate more of the State Alchemists.

 

With that thought, Scar opened the bag, and it rustled as he searched for the first pie. Here was as good a place as any to—

 

“Reow?”

 

Scar’s head snapped up. He jerked his hand out the bag, and flexed it as he jumped to his feet. He scanned the alley. For a second, he couldn’t see anything. Then, he spotted it, behind another crate. It was a tiny kitten, with the biggest green eyes he’d ever seen.

 

Scar scowled at the kitten, and she rose up onto her hind legs. The kitten’s fur was a palette of exquisite colour—copper, chocolate brown, black, cream, cinnamon, and a dozen other colours. Amongst the patches, Scar could see flecks of snow. The kitten mewled again.

 

“What do you want?” he hissed. “If you’re hungry, get your own food.”

 

The kitten made a heartbroken sound, and Scar turned away. He barely had enough food for himself, let alone some stray. He sat down again and pulled out a pie from the paper bag. The pastry had broken apart, and the pork juices leaked onto his fingertips. As he took a bite, flavour surged across his tongue. He almost gave a groan of delight. Involuntarily, his eyes went to where the kitten was—and he froze as he realised she wasn’t there. Where could she have gone too? There weren’t many places for a kitten to hide in this alley. He set the pie down and stood.

 

He carefully crept over to the crate—he didn’t want to startle her—and peered behind the crate. As he’d guessed, there was no kitten behind the crate. So where the hell was she? Then, a rustling sound caught his attention. He spun around, and scowled. The kitten was sitting atop the crate he’d just left, and chewing on his fresh pie.  Scar muttered something under his breath. He strode over to the kitten. In a smooth motion, he reached down and snatched her by the scruff of her neck. She yowled, and lashed out, her claws extended. Scar barely missed being scratched. Her paw caught the pie, sending gravy splattering everywhere, including his face. He dropped the kitten, and she dashed off. He wiped at his face and muttered something in Ishvallan.

 

He looked down. Most of the pies were still in the bag. The only casualty was the half-eaten one in the snow.  He scooped it up and dusted off the snow as he inspected it. Though it was missing a large chunk, it still looked fine to eat. He’d eaten worse before. He lowered himself back down onto the crate and returned to chewing his pie. His mouth filled with the sweet juiciness of pork and apple. He took another bite, and another, until—

 

“Reow?”

 

He looked up. The kitten sat a short distance away from him, her head tilted to one side. As he watched, she slunk closer, and closer, until she crouched at his feet. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the pie in his hand

 

“What do you want?” he asked her.

 

The kitten trilled, and started rubbing herself against Scar’s legs. The alley suddenly filled with the kitten’s purring—as clear and loud as an engine. He looked at the windows to see if any of the Amestrians could hear her. But the blinds remained drawn. He reached out to shoo the kitten away, and she started nuzzling his fingers. Without thinking, Scar scratched her behind the ears, earning himself an even louder purr. 

 

She gave him a light nip, and then proceeded to run her sandpaper tongue along his arm—as though he were an over-sized kitten in need of a bath. After a moment of shock, he pulled away from the kitten, ignoring her irritable mewl. He turned away, and raised the pie to his mouth, only to stop. He could sense the kitten’s eyes on him as he ate. She flicked her tail, and then hopped onto the crates alongside him. She climbed up until she was eye-level with him. Scar looked up.

 

“What do you want now?”

The kitten mewled, and then she licked his nose.

 

“Hey!”

 

She suddenly jumped, snatching the pie out of his hands, and dashing off to the side of the alley. She huddled against the wall, and devoured her prize, keeping a wary eye on him as she did. The sound of her purrs filled the air, and something almost like a smile tugged at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I know Scar is apparently a softie when it comes to cats, so I wanted to incorporate that into the fic. The kitten is inspired by my own kittens who were born on December 24, 2016. 
> 
> I hope that the kitten and Scar were all in character?


	5. Kiss on the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's just a sweet Royai for your viewing pleasure

Riza glanced about the room idly. She’d never been one to enjoy these types of social military events—particularly the ones held over the Christmas period. Oh, she understood the logic behind it. At these functions, the different divisions of the military got the opportunity to mingle, re-establish connections, and, in the case of the more superior officers, poach promising junior offices from under the noses of their rivals.

 

As her eyes moved around, she could see various military officials, each one resplendent in their dress uniforms, talking to one another. There were also a number of partners wearing their formal outfits—floor length ball gowns, or tailored suits. They looked amazing as well, though not as amazing as the ball room itself.

 

There were vaulted ceilings arching high over her head, and three sparkling chandeliers lit up the room.  The floor was so polished; she could see her reflection in it. There were thick red ribbons tied around the columns, and a Christmas tree set up in each corner of the room. They were each decorated, of course, with golden bells and glittering baubles. Ice sculptures were dotted about the room, in shapes ranging from reindeer, to life size Christmas trees. She suspected that alchemy was involved in keeping them from melting, though she hadn’t had a chance to inspect the sculptures at close range.

 

She kept scanning the crowds. Couples twirled across the floor, like leaves caught in an autumn breeze. Other people lingered at the edges of the dance floor, deep in conversation about some military scheme. She saw General Armstrong, and her former subordinate, Major Miles, deep in conversation—though from the nervous look on Miles’ face, it wasn’t going in the direction he’d hoped. Another familiar face in the crowd was Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, who was arm-in-arm with Sheska, of all people.  When had those two become so close?

 

Something suddenly slammed into her shoulder, she leapt back, her hand automatically reaching towards her hidden gun, when she recognised her assailant.

 

“Second Lieutenant Catalina, what are you doing?”

 

Second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina grinned at Riza. Although she was, like Riza, wearing her dress uniform, it accentuated Rebecca’s figure much better. Riza privately suspected that Rebecca had it altered to be more flattering, and Riza couldn’t really blame her for that. Rebecca had added to her general appeal by taking her thick hair, and twisting into a bun at the nape of her neck. She’d even gotten into the festive spirit by attaching a sprig of holly to her uniform.

 

“I’m having a bit of fun, what’s it look like?”

 

“How much have you had to drink?”

 

Rebecca laughed. “Not nearly enough! But, I’ve got better things to do than drink. There are a number of gorgeous single men here, and I plan to dance with each and every one of them.”

 

Riza’s lips quirked. “Sounds like fun.”

 

“Oh, it is. Especially dancing with the officers.” Rebecca winked.

 

“Military officers are prohibited from having relationship with each other, you know that right?”

 

Rebecca waved aside Riza’s words. “I’m dancing with them, not eloping. Rebecca’s expression suddenly became serious. “Why don’t you have a dance with Roy—oh, I guess that’s difficult, now, huh?”

 

“Yes,” Riza said shortly.

 

The Colonel’s blindness was still something she struggled to talk about. The Colonel had insisted that Dr. Marcoh use the Philosopher’s Stone to heal Jean first. It was only after the healing was complete did they realise that the stone’s energy had been used up. Riza had feared that the permanent loss of his sight would have broken the Colonel, but he once again surprised her with his strength. After the failed healing, the Colonel—with Riza’s help—had started looking for ways to aid the Ishvallan rebuild from _outside_ the military. Both of them had reasoned that Führer Grumman would had no choice but to give the Colonel an honourable discharge. 

 

To their shock, Fuhrer Grumman instead had given the Colonel a prominent position in the Eastern region, and even hinted at a promotion. Führer Grumman told the Colonel that, even though he wasn’t fit for the battlefield, he had the knowledge and expertise to manage the tentative relations with the newly appointed Ishvallan representatives.

 

“Are you sure that—” Rebecca began, when a booming voice cut her off.

 

“Ladies, you look wonderful this evening!”

 

Riza and Rebecca turned. Riza had to tilt her head back to stare at the speaker. Major Armstrong towered over the two of them, and as he smiled, sparkles dance around his head.

 

“Good evening, Major. Are you enjoying yourself?” Riza asked.

 

“I am indeed. But, I would enjoy it more if I had a beautiful woman to dance with.”

 

His eyes flicked over to Rebecca, who smoothed back her hair and held out a hand. “I’d be happy to volunteer.”

 

“Then let’s go!” the Major yelled. “Ballroom dancing is a skill that has been passed down the Armstrong family line for generations!”

 

There was a loud ripping sound and the shreds of the Major’s shirt flitted through the air around him. Bare-chested, he led Rebecca onto the dance floor—and she certainly didn’t seem to mind the Major’s semi-nudity.

 

Riza watched them dance for a moment, then looked about again. She was sure she’d seen—she stiffened as she spotted the Colonel. Her sniper’s vision took in everything. The sweat beading his forehead, the white-knuckled grip on his cane, the tightness of his mouth. She started moving, and a moment later she was at the Colonel’s side.

 

“Are you all right, sir?’ she asked as she reached him.

 

His head moved towards her voice. 

 

“I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

 

“Sir, with all due respect, you’re lying to me.”

 

The Colonel took several deep breaths, and then the corner of his mouth kicked upwards. “Am I that obvious?”

 

“Sir, we’ve been together long enough for me to know when you’re lying.”

 

“Fair enough,” a strange emotion flitted across the Colonel’s face.

 

He said something softly, and Riza had to lean in to hear him.

 

“I’m not too fond of crowds.”

 

She was glad he couldn’t see her wince. Of course the Colonel wouldn’t like crowds. In that instant, Riza experienced the ball room as the Colonel did.  The music, the laughter, the voices—it was a chaotic cacophony that offered no guidance as to where to go or who was around him. The other guests moved indifferently about, sometimes directly into his path, or kicking aside his cane. Or were too drunk to notice him trying to walk and collided with him. A whirlwind of smells from perfume to roasted turkey filled the air. It was a bewildering chaos of sensation, and without sight to hold it all together . . .  

 

“In, that case, sir, why don’t we leave?” she suggested, “I think we’ve been here long enough to satisfy any social requirement.”

 

The Colonel raised his eyebrow. “Are you inviting back to your place, Lieutenant?”

 

“No, sir. Just offering to walk you home.”

 

“I’ll take it.” He held out his arm, and Riza slipped hers through his, as she gently guided him towards the exit.

 

***

 

“Thank you again for walking me home, Lieutenant.”

 

“You’re welcome, sir.”

 

To be honest there was no real rush for her to head home. She’d left Black Hayate with one of her neighbours, and the little dog knew how to behave himself when she was away. She breathed out, her breath forming little clouds of smoke in front of her. The streets were covered with fresh snow, though none was currently falling, and the street lamps gave off a warm glow. There weren’t many people out this late, though she did see the occasional drunken reveller.

 

As they walked, they passed through the shopping district, and her eyes lingered on some of the displays. It always amazed her how the businesses went to extraordinary lengths to bring a Christmas spirit to their shops. The bakeries had entire Christmas villages—made from ornately decorated gingerbread and chocolate—in their windows; the toy stores had huge Christmas trees, with their wares displayed beneath them, set up and clothing stores displayed the most ridiculous Christmas-themed jerseys. They passed through the shopping district and turned into the street that led to the Colonel’s home. She relaxed, enjoying the rhythmic sound of the Colonel’s cane as they walked. His grip on her arm was firm, and the touch made her feel pleasantly warm.

 

“Are we almost home, Lieutenant?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she said in surprise. “May I ask how you could tell?”

 

He titled his head towards the nearby building. “The couple living there are from Aerugo. They often make spicy food, and I can smell saffron, chilli, and cloves from here. They also have a tendency to play the radio loudly, and I can hear their favourite station.”

 

“I see.”

 

She walked with him to his door, and waited while he carefully inserted the key into the lock. It only took him three attempts. As the door swung open, he paused.

 

“Would you like to join me for a night-cap, Lieutenant?”

 

There was something there . . . something that made her nod and say. “Well, since it’s the festive season, I think it would be allowed, sir.”

 

She slipped in after the Colonel, and hung up her coat beside his. He led her deftly though the house, and straight to the kitchen. She wondered how long it had taken him to map out the house in his mind. She could easily imagine the Colonel, alone in his house, wandering around with his hands outstretched and counting each step so that he could find the exact position of each door, window and piece of furniture in his home. Though, the practice must have paid off, as he led her without any mishaps to the kitchen. He went over to one of the wooden cabinets, and took out two glasses.

 

He set them down, and then glanced over to where he thought she was.

 

“Would you like some sherry?”

 

“Sherry?”

 

“Yes,” he shrugged. “I always drink sherry over the holidays. Unless you’d prefer something else?”

 

“No, that’s fine.”

 

He went over to another of the cabinets, and then paused. “Do you hear that?”

 

She tilted her head, and concentrated. Sure enough, there was a sound. No, not a sound, a melody. And it was coming from the neighbour’s apartment.

 

_You can dance-every dance with the guy_

 

_Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight_

 

_You can smile-every smile for the man_

 

_Who held your hand neath the pale moon light_

 

_But don't forget who's takin' you home_

 

_And in whose arms you're gonna be_

 

_So darlin' save the last dance for me_

The music drifted around the kitchen, and the Colonel’s expression became melancholy. Riza went over and placed her hand on his shoulder. He slowly lowered his sherry to the table.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It would have been nice to dance with you tonight. That’s all.” There was no self-pity in his voice. Just sorrow over what he’d lost.

 

Riza gently took his hand.

 

“We can still dance here, if you want,” she said softly.

 

“Aren’t you afraid we’ll crash into the furniture?”

 

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

 

The Colonel’s mouth kicked upwards. “Are you feeling sentimental? That’s not a side you show very often, Lieutenant.”

 

“You’re allowed to be a bit sentimental at this time of year, sir.”

 

“That you are.” The Colonel brought her hand up, and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “Now, may I have this dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this little Royai, and that everyone was in character? I couldn't resist adding in more Jean x Sheska or Rebecca x Alex . . . they're my mom's OTPs. I enjoyed writing a blind Roy here, so it may mean that Roy is blind in more of my future fics


	6. Kiss on the Cheek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I managed to get another chapter done. Yippee. I'm hoping to have the last three done by Sunday, which will be involving my OT3. Anyway, please read and enjoy.

Ling breathed in deeply. The smells of the stir fry mingled with the fragranced steam wafting off the dumplings. His sharp nose could detect hints of spice and meat in the food, and they made his mouth water almost as badly as the sight sweet-and-sour pork in front of him. His stomach gave a growl, but he refused to pick up his chopsticks.  He drummed his fingers on the table.

 

_I wonder where Mei is? It’s not like her to miss our lunch._

 

And on the rare occasions she did, she always sent a message. Ling frowned and closed his eyes. He started breathing deeply and evenly. His inhalations became as long as his exhalations, and he relaxed, focusing on the still point in his breath.

 

His sense of qi flowed out from him. He sensed the servants wandering through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, and the guards on their patrols. Lan Fan’s qi was nearby, despite the fact that she was _supposed_ to be taking time for herself. Her qi was as bright as a blazing star, and he had to force his attention away from its beauty. He stretched his sense out, and he brushed against a familiar qi. His brow furrowed. Usually Mei’s qi was as energised as a firework, but now it was dull, like a candle burnt low. Ling immediately surged to his feet. He marched across the room, threw open the screen door, and strode down the corridor towards Mei’s rooms.

 

He barely paid attention to the guards in the corridor, or the ornately decorated walls as he moved at a brisk pace. His guards yelped, and he heard them fumbling as they tried to follow him. He almost felt pity for them—Lan Fan was probably watching, and would devise some punishment for them for relaxing while on guard duty. Though Ling knew that Lan Fan could be understanding, when it came to the guards neglecting their duties—in particular, their duty to protect him, the Emperor—she was as harsh as . . . well, as Fu had been when he’d trained them.

 

Ling pushed aside the thought of the man who had been as good as a father to him. He quickened his pace, and within moments he was at the door to Mei’s suite. He tapped lightly on the screen door.

 

Silence. He tapped again.

 

“Who is it?” a small voice asked.

 

Ling’s brow furrowed. Mei’s voice sounded hoarse, like she’d been crying.

 

“It’s me,” he said.

 

There was a brief pause, and the screen door slid open. But, instead of Mei’s bright smile, he stared at empty air. A trill caught his attention and he looked down. Xiao Mei had opened the door. The panda looked extremely worried, and she motioned for him to enter. He carefully stepped around her into Mei’s suite.

 

Mei’s suite, like all the suites assigned to the Imperial family, was elegantly decorated with carved wooden furniture. Tapestries covered the walls, and depicted beautiful mountain scenes. There was an elegant writing desk pressed against the far wall, and beside it, was a large bookshelf filled with scrolls and manuscripts on what Ling recognised as alkahestry and alchemy. Beside the scrolls was a single piece of metal, with a seal written in human blood upon it. Ling’s lips twitched, and he wondered if Al knew that Mei had a piece of his old armour in her rooms. As his eyes wandered around the room, he could see Mei’s hand in the décor, particularly in the Ishvallan mosaics dotted about.

 

Ling’s eyes landed on the day bed. Mei was seated upon it, her legs folded into a perfect lotus. Her palms were resting on her knees, and there was a complex alkahestric scroll spread out in front of her. But, she wasn’t looking at it. She was staring out the window, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Ling raced across the room.

 

“Hey, what did I say about the tears. You’re not allowed to drown yourself.”

 

Mei started, and turned to face him as he seated himself beside her. Ling carefully wiped away the tears with the sleeves of his changshan, and smiled at her. Mei’s answering smile was watery. Xiao Mei climbed up and nuzzled her in an attempt at comfort.

 

“Sorry,” Mei said.

 

“It’s all right.”

 

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

 

Ling shook his head fondly. “Mei, you’ve seen me being possessed by a homunculus, unconscious, bleeding, drunk—I think I can handle seeing a few tears from you. Why are you crying, anyway?”

 

She looked away, and didn’t answer. Ling hesitated for a moment, then took her hand. “You can trust me, Mei.”

 

After a moment, she spoke.

 

“I miss Alphonse.”

 

Ling tilted his head. “Pardon?”

 

She shrugged. “I miss Alphonse. This year Alphonse and I planned to spend Christmas together. I mean, since he started working on the exchange program between alchemists and alkahestrists, he’s been really busy. And, since I’m always doing something as a Clan Representative, we haven’t really spent time together and I thought that over Christmas we could . . .”

 

“Have quality time?”

 

She nodded “Exactly. But now, with the University demanding he work on the curriculum over the holidays and organise all the classes, he won’t be here in xing.”

 

Ling gave Mei’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

 

She sniffed. “I know you are. And, I’m being silly. I know Alphonse’s work is important, so I shouldn’t mind, but . . .”

 

“It doesn’t make it much easier, does it?”

 

She shook her head. Ling’s stomach suddenly snarled, and Mei giggled.

 

Ling grinned. “At least I can make you laugh. So, how about we go and finish off those steamed dumplings? Food always makes things seem less bleak. And, I can tell you about the argument I had with the Cretan representative over ribbons.”

 

“Ribbons?”

 

“Ribbons. He got offended because his invitation didn’t have ribbons.”

 

Mei giggled again. “I’ll be right there. Just give me a moment to freshen up.”

 

She slipped out the room, with Xiao Mei on her heels, and left Ling alone with his thoughts.

 

Ling went quiet. He didn’t like seeing his little sister cry. He didn’t like it at all.  He snapped his fingers, and Lan Fan appeared. She was dressed in her usual black and leather uniform, and her automail gleamed from her fresh polish. She kept her retractable blade tucked away, but Ling knew she could snap it out within seconds. Her black eyes watched him intently from beneath her mask. She bowed respectfully, and waited.

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

“Lan Fan, I have a special mission for you.” In a few moments, he relayed exactly what he wanted. She nodded once, and Ling’s grin widened.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“It will be my pleasure, your Majesty.”

 

_Three days later. . . ._

Ling rapped lightly on the screen door with a knuckle. He heard fumbling on the other side, and, in a moment, Mei drew back the screen door. Her long hair was free of her braids, and her tunic looked as if she’d hastily tugged it on. Xiao Mei was perched on her shoulder, as usual.

 

She frowned at him. “Ling?” What are you doing here so early?”

 

He tried, and failed, to repress his smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Something to cheer you up.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “ Really?”

 

“Yep. Now, some on.”

 

She stepped out of her suite, and shut the screen behind her. “Okay . . . where are we going?”

 

“Not far. I asked Lan Fan to set it up in one of the spare rooms.”

 

He led Mei down the Imperial Palace corridors, and down a few staircases, until they reached a screen door. He gave Mei another grin, and threw open the door.

 

“Ta-da” He said, gesturing inside with a flourish.

 

Mei peered inside the room, and her eyes widened. Ropes of tinsel wound around the columns on the side of the room. Silver bells dangled from strings and filled the room with a merry jingle each time they moved. In the centre of the room was a massive pine tree, decorated with glittering baubles, red ribbons, and stars. But, even Ling was shocked to see a massive parcel tied up at the base of the tree.

 

Lan Fan stood to one side of the tree. She’d forgone her usual uniform in favour of a set of loose white pants and a deep green tunic. On closer inspection, Ling noticed that there was a pattern of holly subtly embroidered on the fabric. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, she’d tied a red ribbon to her automail. Her eyes met Ling’s and he could see the glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

 

“Lan Fan, what’s that?” Ling asked, frowning at the parcel. 

 

“This is the thing you asked me to fetch for Mei.”

 

“You got me a present?”  Mei asked in confusion. Xiao Mei mimicked Mei’s expression as she hopped down from Mei’s shoulder and started sneaking towards the parcel.

 

“Yes, but I didn’t for Lan Fan to . . .”

 

Then, he realised what Lan Fan had done. He clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter, as Mei crept over to the parcel. Xiao Mei was already there, giving the parcel a cautious sniff.

 

As Mei neared the parcel, it started shifting around. Mei shrieked, and whipped out a kunai, as Xiao Mei jumped onto her shoulder. Mei deftly sliced through the paper, and a second later she shrieked again.

 

“MY SWEET ALPHONSE!”

 

Sure enough, Al’s head popped out through the wrappings. He looked a little worse for wear from being wrapped up, but he seemed fine, other than being tied up tightly with Christmas ribbon. Mei pulled the ribbon out of his mouth, and Xiao Mei jumped onto his head.

 

“You kidnapped me!” he yelled, glaring at Lan Fan.

 

Lan Fan pressed her palms together. “Forgive me. But, I was under Imperial orders.

 

“True,” Ling managed to wheeze out between gasps of laughter, “But, I didn’t tell you to tie him up in wrapping paper.”

 

Lan Fan shrugged. “It seemed appropriate, since you called him Mei’s Christmas present.”

 

“Alphonse, I’m so happy you’re here . . . b-but how? The University . . .”

 

Ling smiled. “It received a substantial donation from me—my personal funds, not the Imperial Treasury, don’t worry—in exchange for letting Alphonse Elric stay here for the Christmas period.” The donation had been large enough to fund the University for several years, but he wasn’t going to tell Mei that.

 

Mei tilted her head, and stared at him. “You did that, just for me?”

 

“Well, yes. You’re my little sister, and—” 

 

Mei suddenly planted a kiss on Ling’s cheek. “You’re the best big brother, ever!”

 

“Yeah, well, I—”

 

“Would someone untie me, please!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Anyone who knows me will know I love the sibling bonds between the characters in FMA, so this is really centred around Mei and Ling's relationship. I hope everyone liked it. I laughed when I pictured Al being kidnapped by Lan Fan.


	7. Kiss on the Nape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now we come to something slightly steamier. I hope everyone enjoys this.

Olivier snapped her eyes open. She grabbed the hilt of her blade. It sang as she drew it, and sliced a clean arc through the air beside her. Had there been an intruder, they would have been dead. But, there was nothing there. Frowning, Olivier sprang out the bed, taking a guard stance. Her eyes darted about her room, looking for any hint of danger—but there was nothing. Or rather, nothing out of the ordinary. Like all the other rooms in Fort Briggs, there were no windows in her rooms. The lighting was provided solely by the bulbs built into the ceiling, which could be dimmed or brightened at the person’s whim. Right now, the light was just enough for her to make out the details of her room.

 

Olivier’s eyes landed on the few possessions she had—books on military strategy, stacks of reports she was busy reading, the letters from Alex, Catherine and the rest of the family she’d been meaning to answer, her uniform and clothes. There were a few items that didn’t belong to her—an Ishvallan tunic, a woven shawl, and a woollen coat. But, those items didn’t alarm her as they belonged to the scar-faced Ishvallan sleeping in her bed.

 

Then, she heard noises coming from outside her room. She held her sword before her as she crossed to the door, and opened it a sliver. Light spilt into the room, along with the sound of bells jingling. She frowned. Why would there be bells in—

 

_Dashing through the snow_

 

_In a one horse-open sleigh_

 

_Oér the field we go._

 

_Laughing all the way!_

 

She winced as her soldiers’ off-key singing reached her ears.

 

“Foolishness,” she muttered under her breath.

 

Still, she lowered her sword until its tip dug into the floor, and rested both hands on the pommel. She listened for a long while to the sounds of her soldiers singing. Then, a hand touched her shoulder.

 

“What are you doing?” Scar’s voice rumbled in her ear.

 

“Listen.” She jerked her chin at the doorway.

_Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!_

 

_Oh what fun it is to ride_

 

_In a one-horse open sleigh._

“Hang on, I think we missed a verse,” one of the soldiers said.

 

“No we didn’t.”

 

“I’m sure we did.”

 

“How can you be sure? You’re singing the wrong lyrics.”

 

Then, the officers began bickering over whether or not those were the lyrics.

 

“I hear them. So, what?” Scar asked.

 

“We’re at war, Ishvallan. Regardless of the time of year, we need to be ready to defend our borders. There isn’t time for this nonsense, or—”

 

“Happiness?”

 

Olivier didn’t answer. Scar moved closer, and his hands wrapped around her. His body brushed hers, and she realised that he was as naked as she was. Scar’s sigh made a few strands of her hair flutter.

 

“I’ve learnt the hard way that when there’s suffering and war . . . people need to hold onto whatever happiness they can find.”

 

“Happiness is a luxury we can’t afford.”

 

“You don’t believe that.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so.”

 

“Really?”

 

She felt him nod. “If you really wanted to stop their festivities, you would have gone out there and ordered them all to scrub the fort clean from top to bottom.

 

She snorted. “You assume too much, Ishvallan,” she said, but there was no real anger in her voice.

 

“I know you well enough to know that you aren’t as heartless as you like to pretend to be.”

 

“Ishvallan, I can think of much better things for you to be doing than making stupid statements.”

 

He didn’t answer. He simply brushed her hair to one side, and kissed the nape of her neck. The touch sent heat zinging through her.

 

“Like what?” he murmured against her skin.

 

“Lots of things, Ishavallan. And most of them would be more comfortably done in a bed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another one of my Mom's OTPs appears. I had fun writing these two, and I hope to do more of it in the future. I hope that these two didn't appear too out of character.


	8. Kiss on the Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we finally get to my OT3. Everyone who's read my stuff will know how much I enjoy these three, so please read and enjoy.

Lan Fan frowned at the report in front of her. Ever since she’d been appointed as the Imperial Guard, she’d taken on responsibility for establishing the training regime for the guards. The regime she’d designed had been mainly based on the training Grandfather had given her and Ling, but she’d added a few things that she’d learnt from the Elrics and Mei Chang. One of the requirements of the program was that the trainers sent her regular reports on each of the trainee guards, detailing how their training progressed.

 

“Something the matter, Toots?”

 

“Hm?” Lan Fan blinked and looked up in confusion. “What?”

 

She realised both Ling and Greed were staring at her.

 

“You looked worried,” Ling said. He pointed at the report in front of her. “Is something wrong?”

 

“No . . . just some of the guards are struggling in the cold weather.” As she spoke, she glanced towards the window. The screen was ajar, allowing her to see the thick coating of cloud that blotted out the sky. The wind snuck into the room through that small gap, bringing with it a slicing chill. However, the Imperial Chambers were designed to cater to the Emperor’s every comfort. The wooden furniture was both ornately carved and comfortable, there were tapestries and statues to make the room visually appealing, and there was a thick _dikang_ palette built into the floor to heat the entire room.

 

As soon as winter came, the servants activated it, and warmth entered the suite. It was warm enough for her to remove her hoodie line with sheep wool, and padded gloves. There were neatly folded next to Ling’s sheep-skinned lined jacket. Of course, the jacket was adorned with lines of gold brocade forming a rising phoenix—the symbol of the Emperor. Greed’s trench coat was thrown on the floor. But, since Greed didn’t seem to feel the cold at all, Lan Fan was convinced that his choice of knee-length black trench-coat was a fashion statement, rather than a necessity.

 

Lan Fan glanced over to where Greed was sprawled on the daybed, surrounded by various scrolls and financial reports. Ling was seated at the nearby desk, a stylus in his hand. Ever since the three of them had openly acknowledged their courting, they freely spent as much time together as they could. Most evenings, the three of them would sit together in the parlour, and work on whatever they had to do in each other’s company. Ling would read reports or policies; Greed would analyse the country’s financial statements, and Lan Fan would review the training regime for the Imperial Guards, or the security roster. 

 

“Really?” Ling asked.

 

“Yes . . . but I’m not sure if they may be exaggerating the cold. The report comes from the region of Bao Shui.”

 

“Bao Shui? Where the hell is that?” Greed demanded.

 

Ling was frowning. “I know that area . . . did we go there once with Fu?”

 

“Yes. We did when we first did our survival training.”

 

“Was it that place with the waterfall?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Will someone tell me what you’re talking about?” Greed demanded.

 

Lan Fan took a deep breath. “Years ago, before Ling and I went to Amestris in search of the Philosopher’s Stone, Grandfather took us into the mountains. We left the well-worn paths between the villages and headed into the wilderness.”

 

“After a while,” Ling added, “we started to hear this roaring sound, and when we came through the trees, we saw the most amazing waterfall.”

 

She could still picture it in her mind’s eye. The water had roared as they tumbled down the mountainside, and into a turquoise pool. Clouds of rainbow mist billowed in the air, drenching the lush vegetation, as well as her and Ling as they gaped at the magnificent sight. 

 

“Then, what happened?” Greed asked.

 

Ling laughed. “Fu abandoned us there and told us to make our way to him, while relying on our own skills. All he gave us was a picture of a house and a machete.”

 

Lan Fan clearly remembered the experience. It was the first time that the Young Lord—that Ling’s—safety had been entirely in her hands. So, she’d hunted and fished, and built fires, and made sure that they would survive—not that Ling slacked off. He’d worked out the clues from Grandfather’s sketch and led them through the forest to a stone cottage, half-built into the side of the mountain, and surrounded by beautiful evergreen trees. Grandfather had been waiting for them there, with a hot meal, and an entirely new training regime.

 

Greed whistled. “The old man was pretty tough.”

 

“Not any worse than Teacher Izumi.”

 

“Okay. I’ll give you that,” Greed said. “Why’d he choose that place, anyway?”

 

“The area was important to Grandfather. It was where he first met Grandmother.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Ling twisted in his chair, the reports in front of him forgotten.

 

Lan Fan shrugged. She suspected that Grandfather would never have told her the full story of the area, and how he met Grandmother, if she hadn’t accidently found some of their love letters in his trunk.

 

“Yes. Grandmother was from a noble family, and Grandfather was a guard from the Yao clan that accompanied her one suitor. As soon as they saw each other, they fell in love. But, Grandmother’s family didn’t approve of him, so she left behind her noble title and married my Grandfather.”

 

Greed snickered. “It looks like falling for nobility runs in your family, huh, Toots?”

 

Lan Fan glared at him. “That’s not funny, Greed.”

 

He chuckled again. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

 

“Anyway, that’s something we can sort out in January, when Mei returns from Amestris,” Lan Fan said. “She’s more familiar with the region than I am.”

 

“Wait . . . it’s nearly January?” Greed said, jerking upright.

 

“Yes.” Ling shrugged. “So?”     

 

“But, that means . . . it’s almost Christmas time, right?”

 

“Christmas? Oh yeah. . .”

 

Greed raised an eyebrow at Ling. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what Christmas is?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“And, how about you, Toots?” Greed asked, his wine-coloured eyes sliding over to her.

 

She nodded. The Elrics had explained Christmas to her—or rather, had tried to, since they kept interrupting each other.

 

“But we’ve never had one,” Ling said mildly.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Here in Xing, we don’t really celebrate Christmas,” Lan Fan said. “So, we’ve never had one before.”

 

Greed’s eyes widened. “ _What?!_ I thought that the Elrics would have dragged you kicking and screaming over to that side of the world for a proper Christmas.”

 

Ling shrugged. “They’ve tried. Unfortunately, I’m not usually able to leave Xing  easily.”

 

Greed pushed aside his financial reports, and leant forward, steepling his fingers together.

 

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, “Neither of you have had a proper Christmas?”

 

“No.”

 

Lan Fan shook her head in agreement. Greed gave a razor-edged grin.

 

“Oh hell, you’ve been missing out. The parties, the presents, the food—hell, you’d go mad, you little pissant. Roasted turkey with gravy dripping off it’s flesh; smoked gammon with cranberry jam; rice—”

 

There was a loud snarl. Immediately, Lan Fan’s eyes snapped to Ling, who patted his stomach ruefully.

 

“Greed, you’re making me hungry.”

 

Lan Fan frowned. “Haven’t you eaten yet?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Liar,” Greed said flatly.

 

Ling glared at him. “How would you know?”

 

“I’ve been in that body, remember? I know when it’s hungry.”

 

Ling sighed. “Fine. I didn’t eat much today.”

 

Lan Fan didn’t give him a chance to finish. She shot to her feet, and dashed across the room, to one of the cabinets standing proudly against the wall. She flung open the door, and rummaged around. She knew she’d stored it in here, somewhere—there it was, tucked behind an old box of inkwells. She snatched the box up, and returned to Ling.

 

Ling gave her a look. “Lan Fan, I’m fine.”

 

Greed snorted. “Pull another one. You know you collapse when you’re hungry.”

 

“Ling, we all heard your stomach, so please just eat.”

 

Ling looked from her to Greed, and his shoulders sagged.

 

“When are you two going to stop babying me?”

 

“Once you start taking proper care of yourself,” Lan Fan said flatly.

 

Greed gave another bark of laughter. “She’s got you there, you little shit. And besides, you knew what you were signing up for when you said yes to our suits.”

 

Ling sighed again. He held out his hand and Lan Fan wordlessly handed over the box. Ling tore it open, and pulled out a square, brownish biscuit. He popped it into his mouth, and started to chew. Greed reached over and snatched one out of the box.

 

“Hey!”

 

Greed inspected a biscuit. “What is this stuff, anyway?”

 

He took an experimental bite and his eyes brightened. “That’s some decent stuff. Sweet, and spicy at the same time.”

 

“It’s a recipe Ed sent us from Aerugo. One bite of the biscuit is supposed to fill the stomach of a grown man.”

 

Greed snorted. “Let me guess, Ling can eat four pieces and still be hungry.”

 

Lan Fan’s lips twitched as Ling glared at Greed.

 

“Enough commenting about my eating. You were saying . . .”

 

“Oh, yeah. Christmas. The food, the parties, the presents. Along with all the mushy stuff.”

 

Lan Fan frowned. “Mushy stuff?”

 

“Yeah. I’m sure the Elrics mentioned that it’s supposed to be a time to spend with loved ones, or some crap like that, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, that means that the couples are all lovey-dovey, and parents insist on spending time with their kids, or friends visit each other—stuff like that.”

 

An image flashed across Lan Fan’s mind. The three of them, snuggling beneath the blankets in front of a crackling fire, with cups of tea standing next to them. A sharp longing stabbed through her.

 

“Why don’t we do Christmas?” Ling suddenly said, as if he’d read her mind.

 

“Damnit, Ling, you stole my idea!”

 

“Tough shit, Greed. You stole my biscuit, I stole your idea. ” Ling said with a smirk. “So, how about it?”

 

Lan Fan frowned. “Can we do Christmas when Mei is in Amestris with the Elrics?”

 

“Of course we can, Toots.” Greed waved aside her concern, “There’s no rules about how to do or not do Christmas.”

 

Lan Fan hesitated, then said. “It would be nice to spend some time together, and to see some of your traditions.”

 

“Right” Greed rubbed his palms together and grinned wider. “You two just leave everything to me. I’ll sort out the decorations and the food, and—“” Suddenly, an emotion flickered across his face.

 

“I need to ask a favour, though. Can we leave aside the presents shit? It’s just a pain in-the-ass because no one ever likes what people buy them.”

 

Ling gave Greed a long look. “All right. We’ll leave aside the presents. As long as Lan Fan is all right with it.”

 

She nodded. After all, what in the world could she ever get them as gifts?

 

***

 

“Ready to go?” she asked, for the third time, as she hovered by the door to their bedroom.

 

She honestly didn’t know which one of them—Ling or Greed—was worse when it came to getting ready. Greed would spend ages messing with his hair. Ling, on the other hand, dithered between various outfits, as he struggled to decide what degree of formality, and hence, what kind of Imperial regalia, was required for the event. Lan Fan privately thought that Greed didn’t help in the process at all, as he would make comments on _everything_ Ling tried on, which often resulted in Ling running off to change, muttering about not being allowed to scandalise the nobility with his clothing. Of course, Greed would sometimes direct his comments to her, which would make her blush. Or, if he was commenting on the amount of weapons she carried, she’d insist that she needed them to guard Ling. Then, Ling would state that he didn’t really need that much protection, and then—well, it wasn’t really surprising that they were usually late for events.

 

“One more minute,” Greed said, as he adjusted his vest.

 

They’d agreed that they would try to dress festively for the occasion. Greed had pinned both mistletoe and holly to his leather vest. Lan Fan had tried to convince Greed to forego the leather, but Greed had cut off her arguments with kisses, and Lan Fan couldn’t really argue when he did that.

 

“You said “one minute”, ten minutes ago,” she muttered, but didn’t press the issue as he took another glance in the mirror. Ling the stepped into the bedroom, having finally decided to wear a green-and-gold silk tunic, and loose trousers.

 

“Are we ready to go?” he asked.

 

“We’re just waiting for Greed,” she said.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s—all right, I’m coming.”

 

Greed rolled his eyes, and finally turned away from the mirror. The three of them made their way out of the Imperial suite and through the corridors. Lan Fan walked slightly behind Ling, as did Greed. Though she wasn’t officially on duty, the habits of a life-time kept her in a bodyguard role. She strained her senses, and monitored the steady flow of the Dragon’s Pulse beneath her feet as they made their way through the corridors. There were no servants lingering about—Ling had ordered everyone to respect their privacy for the evening.

 

Greed’s grin widened as they approached the screen door.

 

“Right, I hope you like the way I’ve managed to decorate this,” he said, as he threw open the doors.

 

Lan Fan stared.

 

_This room is a fire hazard._ It was the first coherent thought that passed through her head. There were candles everywhere—on the shelves, in candelabras dotted around the room, on the table—filling the room with a pleasant cinnamon smell, and warm buttery light. A massive tree stood in the centre of the room, and had been decorated with baubles, wooden ornaments; glittering glass baubles; tinsel, and a number of other things she couldn’t identify. A gramophone stood in the corner of the room, and from its depths, a melody emerged. It took Lan Fan several minutes to identify it as “Deck the Halls.”

 

Ling whistled. “Woah, Greed. And I thought I knew how to throw a party.”

 

Greed smirked. “Did you see the food?”

 

Lan Fan’s eyes immediately went to the table, and her jaw dropped. The dining table _sagged_ with the amount of food that Greed had piled on it. Roast potatoes with crispy skins and slathered with butter, platters of sliced turkey, a roasted leg of lamb with the meat dripping off the bone; bowls of rice filled with nuts and raisins; platters of roasted vegetables covered with a steaming cheese sauce, and several dishes that Lan Fan couldn’t identify.

 

“Did you make all of this, Greed?” Lan Fan asked, looking between him and the feast.

 

“Of course.”

 

“How?”

 

Greed shrugged. “Not telling, Toots. A chef’s entitled to his secrets. But, you can thank me properly once you’ve had a few bites of the food.”

 

He grabbed their elbows, and started leading them towards the table, when Ling suddenly stopped.

 

“Before we eat, there’s something . . . something I need to give to the two of you.” As he spoke, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a single envelope. An envelope with the Imperial seal on it.

 

He held it out to the two of them. Lan Fan took the envelope and Greed came up to read over her shoulder.

 

“What’s this?” she asked Ling.

 

“It’s just something I-I wanted to get for you two.”

 

Greed scowled. “Damnit, Ling, we said no gifts.”

 

“I know. But, I’ve been planning this for a while, so it seemed like an opportune moment.”

 

Lan Fan frowned, and tore open the envelope. Her eyes widened. She could hear Greed swearing behind her.

 

Lan Fan stared at the papers. No, not papers. Title deeds. For the cottage Grandfather had taken them to in the Bao Shui region all those years ago.

 

“Why?” she whispered.

 

“Because, well, I just thought that it might be nice to have a place to go away from the Court. A place where we can just relax and unwind and just be . . . us.”

 

Lan Fan felt a sharp longing, and her grip on the Title deeds tightened. Greed gave Ling a sideways glance.

 

“You getting sappy, you little pissant? Or are you trying to buy our affections.”

 

“That’s not it, Greed, damnit!”

 

Greed snickered, and ruffled Ling’s hair, making Ling squawk in protest.

 

“I know. Don’t give yourself an aneurism.”

 

Lan Fan looked at the Title deeds again.

 

_My gift is nowhere near as special._

 

“Gift? What gift?”

 

“Toots, what are you talking about?”

 

Lan Fan winced. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. She looked between the two of them and sighed.

 

“I wanted to get you something, but, compared to this,” she held up the Title deed, “my gift is . . . ridiculous.”

 

Ling tilted his head, and took her hand. Greed rolled his eyes, and put his hand on her shoulder.

 

“Nothing you could get us would be ridiculous, Lan Fan.” Ling said softly.

 

“Yeah, Toots. So, let’s see it.”

 

“What?”

 

“You bought the present. So, let’s see it?” Ling said.

 

She bit her lip, and then darted off into the next room. She’d known where Greed had been setting everything up—though she’d been unable to find out what he was doing in the room—so it had been easy for her to store her gift in a nearby storeroom. She slipped, inside, and pushed aside the pieces of broken furniture, and old sheets until she reached her gift. The present was hastily wrapped in glittering paper, and she grunted as she hefted it into her arms. She was careful not to jostle it as she made her way back to the room.

 

She glanced at the table, but saw there was no space to set her gift down, and so she placed it on one of the chairs. Ling and Greed stared at the parcel.

 

“Toots, what’s that?”

 

She stepped back, and stood at attention. “Your gift.”

 

Ling started tugging at the wrapping, earning a yell from Greed. The homunculus lunged for the paper. Within seconds, the paper was gone.

 

“What’s this?” Ling asked

 

The present was a carved wooden cabinet, with nine doors arranged in a square pattern. On each door was a small painting. Ling furrowed his brow as he inspected the one door—the one with a rising phoenix painted upon it.

 

“This is the symbol of the Emperor, am I right?”

 

Lan Fan nodded, and Ling pulled open the door. His narrow eyes flew open. Behind the door was an exact replica of the throne room, complete with carved dragons winding around the columns. On the dais, was a minute figure of Ling, kneeling as the Imperial headdress was placed on his head.

 

“My coronation,” he breathed.

 

Greed’s eyes went wide. He grabbed the handle of a door with a badly-drawn devil on it and yanked it open.

 

Behind the door a replica of a bar, with a number of figures gathered around it. Lan Fan had spoken to Ed, Al and Izumi to make sure that she’d gotten the look right, and that she’d included all the important figures. There was a man with spiky hair and a katana; a woman with cropped hair and a tattoo on her arm; a bulky man holding a hammer, and a man wearing beggar’s rags. Amongst them was a tiny figure of Greed, which was leaning again the bar and holding up a glass of wine.

 

“That’s me and my gang,” Greed said, his voice thick.

 

Then, there was a frantic scramble as they tugged open each of the doors.

 

“Hey, that’s me and Lan Fan when we were kids. And we’ve snuck into the kitchens.”

 

“Never mind that, there’s Toots and me playing Pai Sho.”

 

“That’s the day I asked to Court the two of you.”

 

“Yeah, and over here’s the day Toots asked to court me.”

 

Greed pulled open another door. Behind the door was a replica of the circular room where Father used to sit. She’d tried to get the details exact, from the pipes running along the walls, to the strange throne in the centre of the room. But, the really eye-catching figure was of a smirking—well, Ed had called him “Greeling” and, though neither Greed or Ling had liked the name, it did fit.

 

“Hey, that’s when I became a homunculus,” Ling said.

 

“Yeah. That’s the day we met, right partner?”

 

“Yeah, the day you started driving me crazy.”

 

Greed snorted. “You gave me your body, remember?”

 

Ling rolled his eyes. He pulled open another door and went quiet. Behind the door was the replica of a holding cell. There were three figures inside the room. The one was Lan Fan, dressed in her full uniform, and she was standing off to one side. The other figures were Ling and Greed. The miniature Ling had grabbed Greed by his vest and slammed him into the wall. There were tears on the faces of both figures. The real Greed placed his hand on Ling’s shoulder.

 

“That’s the day I returned, hey, Toots?”

 

“Yes.”

 

And, because she couldn’t stand the sorrow on their faces, she went over, and placed her hands on their shoulders.

 

“Open the middle door,” she said.

 

Greed pulled it open, and the men stared inside. The centre door hid three figures—exact replicas of the three of them. All three were cuddled up on a futon, and nibbling on a variety of biscuits.

 

“That’s beautiful, Lan Fan.” Ling said softly.

 

Greed was scowling at the cabinet.

 

“Is something wrong, Greed?” Lan Fan asked, nervously. “Don’t you like my gift?”

 

“I love it, Toots. But, damnit, you two are crazy,” Greed snapped. “Absolutely crazy. What happened to the damn agreement about no presents?”

 

Lan Fan raised her eyebrows “I thought you were Greed the Avaricious?””

 

“Yeah. Mr, I-Want-it-All. Women, money, power, sex . . . “” But as he spoke, Ling’s eyes were dancing with amusement.

 

Greed scowled at him. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then you’re going to make me say it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Greed gritted his teeth. He went over to the Christmas tree, and yanked off one of the decorations. Then, he went back to the two of them and dropped the decoration into Lan Fan’s waiting palm.

 

“These are the only things I want.” He said flatly.

 

“A Christmas bauble?” Lan Fan asked.

 

Greed’s mouth worked for a second. “Just look at the reflection.”

 

Lan Fan obeyed. On the smooth golden surface of the ball, she could see her reflection. And, directly beside her reflection was Ling’s. Greed moved and stood in front of the two of them. He stared at the gold reflections for a long moment, before lifting up his eyes to meet theirs.

 

“Those two things are the only things I want . . . so,” he rubbed the back of his neck, and then reached into his pocket. ‘Here.”

 

He held out something to them, and Lan Fan put the bauble down. In his hand were two velvet boxes. The one was a deep purple—obviously Ling’s—and the other was red. She took the red box, and frowned as she opened it. Inside the box was a ring. A beautiful ring but—her jaw dropped as she remembered.

 

Amestrians used rings when they wanted to _propose._

She sent a wild look between Greed’s serious eyes, to Ling’s shocked expression.

 

Ling swallowed and asked “Greed, are you _proposing_ to us?”

 

“You better believe it, partner.”

 

Lan Fan’s eyes stared at the ring. It was a beautiful design, with two narrow gold bands connecting to each other, and forming a jewelled emblem. But, there was something wrong with the—

 

“All right, Greed, hand over the last piece,” Ling said, holding out his hand.

 

“Ah, you noticed, did you?” Greed chuckled.

 

“Yes. It’s kind of obvious.”

 

Greed dug into his pocket. “I was holding these back until you decided to pop the question to Toots as well—though considering how long it took you two to admit your feelings for each other, I was prepared to wait till I was an old geezer.”

 

“It wasn’t that long,” Lan Fan muttered, turning red.

 

“Twenty years, Toots? Come on.” Greed gave her a look.

 

“Greed, just hand them over,” Ling said, before they could argue.

 

Greed handed over a black velvet box, and Ling snatched it. He opened it, and pulled out two rings. He handed Lan Fan one. Then he inspected the rings Greed had given him. He carefully slotted them together, and grinned.

 

Lan Fan looked at her rings. The two Greed had given her had a missing section—which was clearly visible on her third ring. She slotted them together, and then stared. The emblem now made perfect sense—and ouroboros dragon surrounding a rising phoenix and a leaping tiger. Greed, Ling and  . . . _her_? They thought of her as a tiger?

 

“Well?” Greed asked, after a moment.

 

“Well, what?” Ling asked. There was a broad grin on his face.

 

‘I need an answer, you little piss—” Ling cut off Greed with his lips, and Lan Fan suddenly felt her heart swelling in her chest.

 

When they broke apart, they gave her identical grins. Their eyes were shining.

 

“How about it, Toots? Don’t tell me that you’re going to make me put up with this idiot on my own?” Greed asked, as he tightened his grip on Ling.

 

“Excuse me,” Ling elbowed him. “I’m the one putting up with your crap the whole time, right Lan Fan? Please don’t leave me to deal with him alone.”

 

Her soul was singing. She looked up and then threw her arms around both of them. She couldn’t give them a verbal answer, but she thought her kisses made her feelings clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this. I had fun writing these three--though to be honest it was tough to figure out the gifts. I really had to think hard for Lan Fan's gift in particular.
> 
> Btw, I wonder if anyone will guess what Ling biscuit ate in this fic?


	9. Kiss on the . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's more of my OT3--though this time, Ling and Greed share a body. It's also a bit steamier than usual, but I hope it's not too much. Enjoy, and feedback on this piece would be greatly appreciated.

Lan Fan yawned, her jaw creaking. As much as she liked Mei, sometimes she could be a bit over-whelming. Especially now that she’d become obsessed with the Amestrian holiday of Christmas. Ever since Mei had discovered it, she’d been running around insisting that Lan Fan help her decorate the tree, or bake the cookies, or set up the gingerbread house. Lan Fan enjoyed helping Mei, but now she felt utterly exhausted. The Christmas party Mei had thrown had been the last straw. Lan Fan had planned to spend a quiet evening in, and maybe get an early night. Instead, Mei had cornered her as she finished her sparring session, and announced that they were going to have a proper Christmas party, since the Elrics, the Curtis family and the newly-engaged Mustang-Hawkeyes were all in Xing over the Christmas period.  Lan Fan had tried to make her excuses, but Mei had seized her arm and said.

 

“Please, please, come? It won’t be the same without my family there.”

 

How could Lan Fan argue with something like that?

 

So, Lan Fan had bathed, and dressed in something other than her usual uniform—a pair of loose, black trousers and a green tunic. And, because Mei had insisted that she try to dress festively, she’d added a red sash around her waist. Then, she’d made her way to one of the informal dining rooms. 

She’d been one of the first ones there, but within moments, the room had been filled with people, each one wearing a Christmas hat, and talking to each other in loud voices, or singing off-key Christmas carols. The joyous mood was intoxicating, and soon she was laughing and singing as hard as the rest of them.

 

And, when Ling came over and held her hand, she didn’t protest—not even when he switched control over to Greed and the homunculus refused to let her go.

 

She yawned again and looked around her room. Mei’s festive mood had even reached her bedroom. There were red ribbons tied around some of her furniture, and a Christmas wreath fastened to her wall by some form of alkahestry. She rubbed her eyes. All she really wanted was to curl up in bed and—she paused as she noticed a handwritten note on her futon. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she crossed the room and scooped it up. She exhaled in relief as she recognised the familiar handwritings on it—the elegant script of Ling changing into Greed’s semi-legible scrawl.

 

 

_Lan Fan_

_Would you like to join us for a cup of tea before bed?_

_If the answer’s yes, Toots, then meet us in our chambers. And, if it’s not, we’ll come down and get you anyway? Just kidding._

_Lan Fan, if Greed hasn’t irritated you too much, please come?_

_See you soon, Toots._

 

 

She shook her head fondly, and glanced out the window. Outside, the full moon drifted indolently through a shimmering river of stars. The wind brought the fragrance of sweet incense to her nose, and suddenly, she felt wide awake. There was something in the air, a strange feeling that she couldn’t quite identify. She shook herself. Strange feelings in the air? She was being ridiculous. All she was going to do was have a cup of tea with Ling and Greed. Nothing more.

 

***

Lan Fan tapped on the screen door, and automatically stretched out her sense of qi. The first thing she noticed was the blistering sense of qi emanating from Ling’s body. Once, the sensation made her hair stand on end, but now it was a comforting feeling. It reassured her that they were both alive and well. Then, she stretched out further, and she brushed against the faint warmth of the guards, who were quite a distance away. She frowned. The guards should be right outside the door, or hidden where they could be immediately called if—

 

The screen door slid back, and Lan Fan’s thoughts scattered. Ling’s body was standing there in its bare-chested perfection. They’d untied their hair and midnight tendrils meandered along their neck and broad shoulders. She could see the muscles rippling beneath their skin. Her hand came up involuntarily to trace the definition and—she caught herself, the blood rushing to her cheeks.

 

She forced her eyes back to their face, and she realised it was Greed in control—his razor grin was a dead-give away.

 

“Good to see you, Toots.”

 

She took a deep breath and tried to stamp out her desires. “Where are the guards?”

 

Greed shrugged. “We decided to give them the night off. It’s Christmas, so why not?”

 

“You need protection.”

 

“Come on, Toots. It’s not like we’re helpless. We can heal, I have my Ultimate Shield, and Ling’s a bad-ass martial artist—don’t make me regret that, you little pissant . . . oh, don’t get a big head. You’re not that—oh, shut up.”

 

Lan Fan ignored their bickering and continued. “I’m being serious. You need the protection. You’ve been injured before.”

 

“We’re fine, Toots. One night off won’t hurt anyone. You worry too much.”

 

Lan Fan was about to argue, when a ripple passed through them, and Ling was suddenly in control.

 

“You know, if you want to argue, we can do it inside, where it’s more comfortable?”

 

Lan Fan nodded, and Ling stepped aside to allow her into the room.

 

“I still think you need protection,” she said.

 

“You’re here now, right? Between the three of us, we can handle any intruders. Now, would you like some tea?”

 

He gestured at the fireplace, and her eyebrows rose. Ling and Greed had brought a number of blankets from the bed, and piled them in front of the fireplace. A fire crackled inside, sending fragranced smoke into the air. Over the flames, a cast iron kettle dangled, and steam was already wafting out of its spout. There were two clay cups in front of the fire, and a small line of bags nearby. Even from this distance, she recognised the symbol on the bags—it was the emblem of the Jasmine Dragon, the best tea shop in Xing.

 

“Wow,” she said, as she lowered herself into a seated position by the fire.

 

“Thanks. I—sorry, we—thought you’d appreciate it.”

 

Ling lowered their body into a seat beside her. He gestured at the small bags of herbs lined cup on the floor.

 

“Choose whichever one you want.”

 

She frowned at the bags. She picked one cup, sniffed, and her nostrils burnt with the smell of ginger. The next brought the sweet scent of lemongrass. After that, she detected cinnamon. She sniffed each of the bags and, after a moment of consideration, chose a blend of herbs which included vanilla, ginger, and lemongrass.

 

Ling smirked. “I knew you’d choose that blend.”

 

“What?”

 

“I had a bet with Greed over which tea you’d choose,” he said.

 

He carefully prepared the tea, by placing the herbs into the strainer, and then adding it to the hot water. Plumes of fragranced steam drifted into the air. After a moment, the scent grew stronger. Ling poured her a cup. She took a sip and sighed in pleasure.

 

“You really like your tea, huh Toots?”

 

She blinked. She hadn’t realised Greed had taken control. “Yes. It makes me feel calm, and centred.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

She nodded. “Grandfather used to say that a cup of tea could help you to think clearly and make important decisions.” Her lips quirked. “Whenever something happened, good or bad, he would always would make a cup of tea.”

 

“Ling says he remembers.” Greed said. He held up their cup. “A toast, Toots.”

 

“To what?”

 

“To Fu, and, I guess to Christmas?” Ling suggested, as he stole back control.

 

She nodded, and they tapped their cups together. She drank deeply, enjoying the natural sweetness, and feeling the warmth fill her entirely. She placed her flesh hand down on the ground, and somehow it ended up on top of theirs. Her breath caught.

 

She looked at it, and they did too.

 

Their fingers curled around hers. She lowered her cup to the floor, and they did the same. Ling shifted closer, and her head tilted upwards as he closed the gap between their mouths. Her head spun, as she enjoyed the taste. Their hands ran along her body, and as she turned her head to gasp for air, they started kissing the sensitive flesh of her throat. Suddenly, Ling jerked away.

 

“Wait, Greed, don’t—” Ling began, and a second later, she could clearly see Greed was the one in control.

 

“Greed? What’s going on?” she asked.

 

Greed reached out, and stroked her cheek. “Nothing. The pissant just had a good idea, but he’s too scared to act on it.”

 

“Oh, what was the idea?”

 

Greed grinned at her. “Oh, just that kisses don’t always have to be on the mouth.”

 

He swooped in, kissing her throat, then her clavicle, along her breastbone and lower. Even through the fabric of her tunic, their touch made her burn. Greed kissed above her navel, and eased apart her thighs. Her toes curled in anticipation as she realised where their next kiss would be—and then they jerked away like she’d blistered their skin.

 

“Damnit, Greed, I said no!” Ling’s words sent rejection lashing through her. For a second, she lay there, processing the sharp words. Then, her eyes pricked as she righted herself. She straightened her tunic. They didn’t seem to notice her. Ling was scowling, apparently lost in an argument with Greed. Lan Fan stood, and bowed deeply.

 

“Your Majesty, forgive my forwardness. I will be returning to my rooms now.”

 

Suddenly, Ling’s head snapped to her.

 

“What? Wait, Lan Fan—” She didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence, and bolted from the room.

~~~~

 

In the safety of her room, Lan Fan clung to her knees. Tears leaked from her eyes. She was so _stupid_. Stupid for believing that either of them would ever want to—

 

There was a frantic knocking at her door.

 

“Lan Fan. Lan Fan, please open—”

 

“Toots, open the door or I’m breaking it down. I’m serious—”

 

“I’ll let him, Lan Fan. I swear I’ll help him if I have to. Please, we need to talk to you.”

 

Lan Fan was so tempted to remain lying there. To let them remain standing at her door. But, Grandfather had driven propriety too deeply into her for her to ignore them. She sat up, and wiped at her eyes. For a moment, she was tempted to go and change into her uniform. At least then she wouldn’t feel as . . . vulnerable.

 

She reluctantly rolled off her futon and onto her feet. She pulled back the screen door and her jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Ling—the _Emperor!—_ to be kneeling in front of her door with their forehead pressed to the floor, and the Ultimate Shield coating both his arms. She looked about frantically. Other than the golden statutes glinting faintly in the moonlight, and a few bonsai trees, the corridors were deserted.

 

“What are you doing? Get up!” she snapped.

 

If anyone saw the Emperor like this . . .

 

“No,” Ling said flatly.

 

“You can’t do this! What if someone sees the Emperor—”

 

“Right now I’m _not_ the Emperor,” Lan Fan blinked, and was about to ask what he meant when he continued. “Lan Fan, I’m an idiot. An Emperor idiot. I’m a complete and utter moron. Please, forgive me?”

 

Something tore inside her. She took a deep breath and said.

 

“There’s nothing to forgive. I shouldn’t have been so forward. Goodnight, Your Majesty.” She stepped back and tried to shut the screen door.

 

At those words, their head snapped up. A horrified expression spread across their face. It was Greed’s voice that said “Oh, fuck you think that we don’t—”

 

Suddenly, they leapt to their feet, and had both her hands in theirs. There was a slight scraping sound as their Ultimate Shield touched her automail.

 

“Lan Fan, listen to me,” Ling had apparently taken control back. “It’s not what you think, all right.”

 

She didn’t answer, and their grip tightened.

 

“You have to believe me.  Lan Fan, I—we—want you.”

 

“If you wanted me so much, why did you pull away?” She asked, and hated herself for asking.  

 

Ling sighed. “Erm, well—”

 

He shuddered, and she could tell Greed had taken control.

 

“It’s because of the agreement, Toots.”

 

“What agreement?”

 

“Ling thinks I’m going to seduce you,--yes, you’ve made your point, you damn pissant—and Ling doesn’t want you to feel pressured into doing things you don’t want to do. So we agreed to wait until you were ready before we took things further.”

 

Lan Fan gave them a look. “So, what happened tonight?”

 

“I just took a chance there. Ling had the idea, and I acted on it. Sorry about that. But, you can’t blame us for fantasising about the woman we love.”

 

Lan Fan didn’t say anything, and their grip almost became painful.

 

“Toots . . . you know we love you, right?”

 

“Lan Fan, you have to believe us when we tell you we love you.” Ling’s voice sounded frantic.

 

She couldn’t meet their eyes. “I want to believe, but . . .”

 

Greed released her hands. Then, their clawed hands tilted her head upwards so that she was looking directly at them.

 

“You know I don’t lie, right, Toots?” Greed said.

 

She reluctantly nodded.

 

“Well, then believe me when I tell you that the pissant and I really do care about you and—I’m getting there, don’t rush me—and we—we—yes, I’m going to say it—we love you.”

 

“Really?”

 

She blinked, and suddenly, Ling was there. “Of course, Lan Fan. You have our word. And, the Xingese always keep their word.”

 

“Greed’s not from Xing.” Her lips twitched upwards.

 

“Greed says that our body is, so it counts.”

 

Lan Fan couldn’t stop a proper laugh that time. Ling smiled at her, and pulled her into their arms. They loved her. They really did love her. She relaxed into their warmth—a warmth that ignited something inside her. Something that reminded her of the anticipation she’d felt when she’d thought they were going to ….

 

She pulled away a little, and stared into their wine –coloured eyes.

 

“What is it?” Ling asked, and somehow, she could see Greed staring out of those eyes as well.

 

“Are you really going to wait until I’m ready before we go further?”

 

They nodded. Her thoughts whirled and then her grip on their arms tightened. She swallowed hard. Then, she closed the gap between their mouths, and set the three of them alight.

 

~~~~

 

Lan Fan refused to move. Her nerves felt like they’d been dipped in golden light, and her blood moved sluggishly through her veins. She  was lying with her head on top of Greed and Ling’s chest, and their pulse felt good beneath her ear.

 

“I’m not going to wake her, you little pissant,” Greed muttered softly. He reached out with their clawed hand and started toying with her hair. “Yes, I’m sure . . . don’t try to take control, you had plenty of time in charge last night.  . . . So? You can still feel her if I’m the one holding her.”

 

Their other arm tightened around her. She shifted a little to hide her smile. In a few hours, they would have to get up and spend the day with Mei and the others, but, for now, Lan Fan was going to enjoy the Christmas morning in the arms of the men she loved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this piece had a good flow, and nobody seemed out of character. The first few times I wrote this, the coupling seemed forced, and Greed actually did kiss Lan Fan there. But, it didn't feel right, so I changed it. I'm happier with how the chapter stands now, and I hope everyone else enjoyed it too.
> 
> And, finally, a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.


End file.
